Chiaroscuro
by juk.in.adagio
Summary: After falling asleep in a museum, Ryou finds himself mistaken for and subsequently kidnapped by the infamous art thief, Thief King Bakura. AU, Tendershipping Yami Bakura x Bakura Ryou
1. Richard Serra: Band

**Chiaroscuro**

Chapter 1: Richard Serra – _Band  
_Summary: After falling asleep in a museum, Ryou finds himself mistaken for and subsequently kidnapped by the infamous art thief, Thief King Bakura. AU.  
Pairing: Tendershipping (Yami Bakura x Bakura Ryou)  
Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh!, LACMA (including BCAM), any works of art mentioned, and anything you recognize do not belong to me.  
Notes: I do not know proper museum policy for dealing with art thieves and do not intend any offense towards LACMA. Because the works of art mentioned in this story are real, I also included a real museum that I am familiar with. If anyone has a problem with this, let me know and I will edit my story appropriately.  
Though this is an alternate universe, shadow magic and the Millennium Items (the Ring in particular) still do exist. This will be explained later.

* * *

"Heads up!"

Bakura Ryou whirled around, only to have pain explode at the side of his head. He let out a cry and dropped to the ground in shock, spilling the contents of his bin everywhere.

"Woah, man, you okay?" A blonde teenager jogged over, followed closely by a shorter boy with tricolored hair.

Ryou smiled weakly, carefully rubbing the point of impact on his scalp. "I'm fine, Jounouchi, thank you." He pulled himself up to a kneeling position and began gathering his scattered utensils. The shorter boy, upon reaching him, also dropped down and started pulling the various papers into a neat stack.

"I'm really sorry about that, man." Jounouchi rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. He stood there awkwardly for a few moments before running off to collect his soccer ball.

Ryou pulled his bin towards him and began restacking his supplies in careful, neat piles. The case for his woodless graphite had snapped open again, leaving the delicate pencils inside in pieces. Ryou sighed before placing the pieces back in the case. He'd tape them back together when he got home.

"What should I do with these?" Ryou's star-haired classmate held out the stack of papers he had collected. Ryou blinked at them, confused, before realizing they were the rough sketches of his completed works that had likely slipped out of his portfolio. He took them gratefully with a soft thanks and placed them back in their proper spot.

"You're a really good artist," the boy murmured, cocking his head and smiling cutely.

Ryou smiled back. "Thank you, Yuugi-kun." He placed the last item back in the bin and stood.

Jounouchi returned, soccer ball in his hands. He eyed the bin and turned to Yuugi. "Hey, it's getting dark. Let's go to the arcade." Turning back to Ryou, he asked, "Wanna come with?"

Ryou shook his head, white hair fluttering. "I need to get this stuff home," he replied, shifting the bin to a more comfortable position in his arms.

Yuugi smiled. "Well then, next time, okay? Summer break just started, after all."

Ryou smiled softly. "Actually, my dad is sending me to America over the summer to study art." He had wanted to tour Europe, but his father, in an unexpected show of parental protectiveness, had drawn the line at English-speaking countries. Knowing the UK all too well, he had chosen America.

"Woah, really? That's so cool!" Jounouchi stared at Ryou, stars glittering in his eyes. Ryou took a small, unconscious step back, unnerved. "Bring back some souvenirs, okay?"

Ryou murmured his assent and took a step to the side. 'Um, I need to get going, so…"

Jounouchi and Yuugi nodded, and the small group exchanged their farewells and promises to meet up upon his return at the end of summer. Unfortunately, that was not to be.

* * *

Ryou glanced over his sketchbook as his plane began the descent into Los Angeles International Airport. They were all rough sketches, and none seemed particularly interesting. There was not much inspiration to be found in an oversized metal can with grumpy, tired people, after all.

He moved through the familiar arrival procedure, paying no attention to his surroundings. Los Angeles or no, all airports looked the same in the end. What did pique his interest was a magazine in a newsstand that seemed to be displaying… him?

No, it was not him, he realized as he moved closer. Though the white hair was similar to his own and the picture too blurry to make out specific features, the hair was shorter, too wild, and the skin was much darker than his own pale tint. Ryou frowned. Why would a magazine put a blurry picture on its front cover?

**THE THIEF KING  
**SEPARATING RUMOR FROM REALITY  
SPECIAL INSIDER EDITION ON THE INFAMOUS ART THIEF

'Interesting…' he thought as he flipped through its pages. Wanting to read at his own leisure, Ryou bought the magazine and began reading as he made his way to baggage claim.

Three hours and a frustrating misunderstanding later, Ryou stepped out of his taxi in front of the hotel that would be his home for the two months. Sighing, he shelled out the money for all three hours, not wanting to argue with the incompetent taxi driver. After the cab peeled away, he secured his room and dragged his luggage to the second story.

The room was small. There was enough space for him to sleep and eat, but not much else. Though Ryou had planned to spend the majority of his time in the museums, he had been hoping to do some painting at the motel. However, with the size of the room, it looked like that was not an option. Ryou frowned.

He spent the next hour carefully unpacking his luggage. His clothes went into the drawers and the closet, his toiletries in the bathroom, his books on the tiny, cramped table. His art supplies were laid out on his bed in preparation for the next day's excursion to the nearest museum. As he reached into his backpack to similarly empty its contents, he came across the magazine he had forgotten about during his frustrating journey.

The teen stood there for a few moments, looking at the blurry picture of the art thief on the cover before placing it gently to the side. After reorganizing the contents of his backpack around the small motel room, he picked up the magazine and curled up in the worn kitchen chair to begin reading.

The Thief King, he learned, was a rather young thief who specialized in stealing works of art from museums all across the country. The title was one he had given himself by leaving a sort of name card behind with each heist, and despite the government's every effort to keep the name hidden, the press and the public had jumped on the moniker. He apparently made no effort at hiding his appearance, often walking right past cameras and waving to shocked guards. Despite this, there were no clear pictures of him anywhere, and his identity remained unknown.

According to the few images, the security tapes, and the accounts of the guards who had seen him, the Thief King was in his late teens or early twenties, with messy white hair, dark skin, and a large scar under his right eye. At every heist, he wore the same long red robe, which experts had determined was of some Middle-Eastern origin.

Some of the stolen pieces ended up back in their proper museums after being recovered from the underground, and a good number were expected to still be floating around illegally in others' hands. However, many pieces were supposedly in the private care of the Thief King himself.

One of the aspects that made the thief so difficult to catch was the difficulty in predicting where he would strike next. There was no pattern in the works he stole or the museums he hit. He stole famous and unknown paintings and sculptures from all different time periods and styles, even somehow stealing the largest ones despite working solo. The museums were similarly big and small, and he could steal from the West Coast one day and pilfer from the East the next. The only thing investigators knew for certain was that he remained in the United States, though they suspected that he may one day begin hitting international as well.

Ryou reached the last page of the magazine and closed it, mind racing. What kind of person was this man? Why did he steal artwork, only to keep some and sell the others? How did he get around when he had such distinctive features?

He sat on the uncomfortable kitchen chair in deep thought before a growl from his stomach rudely jerked him away from his thoughts. Looking up at the clock, he was shocked to see how much time had passed. The motel room was equipped with a small, noisy refrigerator, but there was no food in it yet…

Ryou stood, tossing the magazine onto the small table and grabbing his wallet and key. He'd eat out tonight, and then grab some groceries on the way back.

With that in mind, Ryou stepped out into the cool evening air, all thoughts of thief kings and art left behind.

* * *

The next day pushed its way into Ryou's consciousness through the means of a single beam of sunlight that found its way through the dark curtains and straight into Ryou's eyes.

Ryou groaned and pulled the spare pillow over his eyes, but his mind was already conscious and slowly registering the sounds of cars and people on the street below. After wiggling down the bed to avoid the sunlight, he tossed off the pillow and sat up, yawning.

The teen rubbed his eyes and blinked sleepily, taking in his surroundings. He let out a soft sigh and swung his legs off the side of the bed. 3:37PM, the bedside clock declared. Ryou was shocked for a moment, but he then remembered that he was in America and the combination of the time change and long early morning flight probably meant that his sleeping schedule would be a little funky for a while.

Ryou sighed. If he hurried, he could still get to the nearest museum before it closed at eight and browse through. He quickly moved through his morning ritual, dressing himself in his favorite striped shirt and grabbing a few fruits for a meal. Determining that he would not have enough time to sit and draw, he simply placed his smallest sketchbook in his backpack in case of sudden inspiration. After giving himself a quick glance in the mirror, he grabbed his wallet and key and practically ran out the door.

A few confusing bus rides later, Ryou found himself standing in front of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. He only had about two and a half hours to look around… He headed towards the Broad Contemporary Art Museum. He wasn't very particular for modern art, so he would spend the rest of the day here and explore the main galleries tomorrow.

After two hours of going through BCAM, Ryou was starving and inexplicably exhausted. None of the pieces caught his eye, and he spent more time wondering what drugs the artists were on than the compositions themselves. He began heading towards the exit, ready to leave, only to see out of the corner of his eye a wall of… wood?

Curiosity piqued, he headed to the wood wall and entered the room it was in. Taking a closer look, he realized that the wall was really a large, curved metal strip that twisted elegantly around itself. Ryou spun around, looking for a description. _Band_, the piece was called, by Richard Serra. He peeked out the doorway he had entered through and saw a similar piece on the other side.

Looking around to see if anyone was watching, he walked around the sculpture and found the entrance into the piece. Ryou stepped in, feeling as if he was in a very elegant steel maze. He kept walking until he reached what seemed to be the center of the piece and sat down, taking off his backpack and leaning against the cool wall. Feeling an almost surreal sense of displacement, he admired the arcing metal above and around him. Lulled by the serenity of the sculpture, Ryou felt another wave of sleepiness come over him and closed his eyes almost involuntarily.

'I'll just rest for a moment,' he thought.

Fifteen minutes later, the closing of LACMA was announced and guards began making their rounds to ensure no one was still in the museum. However, having gone through the routine so many times before, they gave _Band _only a cursory glance and a shout-out to see if anyone was still inside. Hearing and seeing nothing, they continued on and locked up the museum, leaving a white-haired boy sleeping peacefully on the floor inside _Band_.

* * *

When Ryou awoke, the first thing he noticed was that he was laying on a cold, hard surface and he was _freezing_. He sat up, disoriented, and tried to figure out just where he was. He squinted into the darkness and saw a great looming shape in front of him –

The teen's eyes widened in horror. He had fallen asleep in the museum! And judging by the darkness around him, it was past closing time and everyone was gone.

Ryou stood shakily, leaning on the metal for support. First things first, he needed to get out of here. He picked up his backpack and felt along the metal, walking unsteadily as he followed its twists and curves. The longer he walked, the faster he moved, panic lodging in his throat and tears welling in his eyes until finally he reached the end of the piece and practically cried in relief, breath escaping in short pants.

He stumbled out of the room, rubbing furiously at his eyes, and headed towards the doors. No good – they were locked. Ryou let out a hopeless cry and moved back into the museum, looking for a curator, a guard, anyone.

His running around must have either been heard or caught on camera, for it wasn't long before two guards came running towards him. Ryou smiled in relief.

"Please –" he started.

"Thief!" one of the guards yelled as the other grabbed Ryou's arm in a bruising grip. Ryou let out a pained cry.

"Wait!" he called out as the guards began dragging him out. "I'm not a thief! I just fell asleep and –"

The guard snarled and yanked him forward. "Save it for the police, thief."

Ryou let himself go limp, following the guard as instructed as thoughts flew chaotically in his head. 'Surely once they realize I only fell asleep they'll let me go,' he thought desperately. But in the back of his mind, he had a feeling that he would not be let go so easily. Oh, why, why, WHY was he so idiotic as to fall asleep in a museum?

By the time he became aware that he had stopped, the guards had brought him somewhere in the main building in LACMA. One of the guards still held his arm tightly enough that Ryou was starting to lose feeling in the appendage. The other one was talking to another burly man who appeared to be the head of security.

The burly guard stepped forward and looked Ryou over, bottom to top. Ryou squirmed under the gaze, and the hand on his arm tightened in response. The boy flinched and let out a sharp yelp.

The guard stared at Ryou's hair, eyes widening in a way Ryou would have found funny if he hadn't been scared out of his mind. The man's jaw went slack.

"The Thief King!" he exclaimed, reaching out to grab a clump of Ryou's hair.

The other guards stared at Ryou incredulously. "This is the Thief King?" the guard that held on to Ryou questioned.

Ryou was shocked. "No! I'm not the Thief King! I'm not even a thief! Onegai, boku wa – I mean, I'm just a visitor and I got locked in –"

The guards laughed. "Likely story, Thief King," the burly one sneered.

The man that stood off to the side remarked, "Are you sure that's him, sir? He looks dreadfully… weak."

The burly guard yanked on the lock of hair he held in his hand, eliciting a pained cry from the teen. "Look at this hair! Messy and white, just like they said. You ever see this kinda hair anywhere else?"

The other guard still looked doubtful. "I heard he had this great big scar under his eye."

"You can hide scars with make-up," the guard replied. "Go call the police. Tell them we found ourselves some royalty!" He laughed.

Unbeknownst to any of them, another white-haired teen watched the group, having heard the entire conversation. He had snuck in to steal some random piece from the museum, but after hearing the commotion in the lobby, he had gone to investigate.

'So they found some guy in the museum and think it's me?' the true Thief King wondered. 'Interesting.' He then frowned. Interesting as it was, he didn't like the idea of somebody else getting credit for his work. He'd have to interfere.

The Thief King stepped forward.

Ryou whimpered as the two remaining guards continued to make crass jokes above his head. The situation had gotten a hundred times worse; now he had to prove to them that he wasn't the Thief King and his father would get involved and he'd be so, so disappointed in him –

Ryou's panicking was cut short as a rough voice called out to them. "Mind if I cut in, gentlemen?" The voice laughed, and Ryou shivered at the mania it carried.

The guards fell silent. "Who's there?" the burly one questioned the darkness, and when Ryou craned his neck, he saw a figure half-hidden in the shadows.

The figure stepped out, and Ryou gasped. The messy white hair, the dark skin, the red robe, the scar – no doubt, this was –

"The Thief King," the figure answered, a feral grin stretching across his face. The guards, shocked, looked down at Ryou, with his pale skin and wide, terrified eyes, then back up at the real thief.

"Get him!" one of them yelled, and Ryou was suddenly released from the guard's death grip. He fell back, shocked, and watched as the guards ran towards the criminal.

The next few events happened too fast for Ryou to immediately comprehend. The Thief King lazily held out a hand, something under his shirt glowed, and there was a flash of what seemed to be pure darkness. The guards fell to the ground mid-run and lay motionless. Ryou gasped.

The Thief King turned to the teen sitting on the floor and leisurely made his way over, stepping over the prone bodies of the guards with their faces frozen in shock. With each step he took, the boy scuttled back a little more until his back finally hit the opposite wall. He whimpered.

The thief chuckled and took the final steps to where the boy sat. He lifted his chin up with a finger, tilting the pale face towards him, and took in the white hair, the frightened eyes, and the delicate mouth that exhaled in short pants. The thief smirked.

The last thing Ryou saw was the same flash of darkness before he fell unconscious.

* * *

Author's notes

I know how this story begins, and I know how this story ends, but there is a large blank in the middle. Any and all suggestions will be taken and carefully considered!

The best thing a reader can do for a writer is leave a constructive criticism. I take the quality of my writing very seriously, and I want to know how I can improve (which includes fixing any typos you may find).


	2. J M W Turner: The Slave Ship

**Chiaroscuro**

Chapter 2: J. M. W. Turner – _The Slave Ship (Slavers Throwing Overboard the Dead and Dying – Typhoon Coming On)  
_Summary: After falling asleep in a museum, Ryou finds himself mistaken for and subsequently kidnapped by the infamous art thief, Thief King Bakura. AU.  
Pairing: Tendershipping (Yami Bakura x Bakura Ryou)  
Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh!, any works of art mentioned, and anything you recognize do not belong to me.  
Chapter Recap: Ryou, on a visit to America to study art, falls asleep in a sculpture and wakes up after the museum's closing time. The guards mistake him for the Thief King, but the real Thief King shows up and knocks them all unconscious.  
Warnings: Neurotic trip through the Shadow Realm directly ahead.

* * *

Darkness. All Ryou could see was darkness, although he supposed a better way to describe it was that he couldn't see anything. When he looked down or waved a hand across his face, he knew what he looked like and what he was doing as if he could _see_ the appendages, but that didn't make sense because all he could see was darkness.

'Without light,' he thought, 'You can't see. You need light to reflect off objects and into your eyes.'

He waved his hand in front of his face again, and then realized that though he could see the hand as if he could see (which was a little confusing in itself), he wasn't too sure if he was waving his hand at all.

Ryou blinked, then wondered if he had actually blinked.

It was all very surreal.

Ryou remained in that strange stasis for a while, not standing, not floating, not doing anything. But despite the darkness and the unknown quality of the entire experience, he felt strangely at peace, as if there was some sort of haze blocking his mind. He relaxed, not really caring for the passing of time.

Soon, the teen became aware that the darkness was lifting somewhat, and the strange place he was in was steadily getting lighter. He tried waving his hand again, but somehow could not see it. He looked down at his body only to see nothing and frowned. If he could not see his body below him, how did he know he was looking down? It was almost as if he was looking at –

The backs of his eyelids. Oh.

Ryou's eyes snapped open and he blinked, this time for sure as he took in the unfamiliar couch he was laying on. It was very comfortable and large enough to sleep on, nothing like his own back in Domino, and his motel room most definitely did not have one. He sat up and took in his surroundings.

He appeared to be in a large, open house, with sunlight streaming in through floor-to-ceiling windows. Several white sofas, including the one he was sitting on, were arranged around a metal and glass coffee table, which was covered in junk from a half-eaten box of pizza to empty beer bottles to wireless video game controllers. Past that, there was a sleek, expensive-looking television screen mounted onto the wall, and below it, several game consoles and controllers tangled into one big mess. Ryou winced at the mess.

The teen curled in on himself and tried to think back to how he had gotten here. His memories were a little foggy, but he remembered that he had gone to BCAM and he had – he had fallen asleep. Then when he woke up the guards had though he was – the Thief King! Ryou gasped as his memories came flooding back. But if he had been knocked out, where was he now?

He looked around again at the spacious living room area. 'Maybe,' he thought cautiously, 'Maybe it was all a dream?' If it had been a dream it was a very realistic one, like the ones where he went to amusement parks with Amane. Usually, when he woke up from those kinds of dreams the only proof he had that it wasn't real was that he knew that his sister was dead.

Now, he wasn't sure if what he remembered was a dream or not. If it was, shouldn't he have ended up back in his motel room? Or maybe he really had fallen asleep in BCAM and only the rest of it was a dream, and now he was in the home of some curator that had taken pity on him.

'Yes,' he thought. 'That must have been it.' After all, having the Thief King coincidentally in the same museum on the same day? And have him come to the rescue? It was a little too fantastical to be true.

"You finally awake?" a rough voice called out.

Ryou jumped and spun around quickly. His breath hitched at the sight of white hair (like the Thief King's, he thought), but relaxed slightly at the accompanying face. The complexion was paler, and there was no scar in sight. Overall, this man looked more like… Ryou.

Ryou had been so occupied with scrutinizing the man's face that he didn't notice him moving until something was tossed onto his lap. He looked down, startled, and saw his backpack with his wallet lying innocently on top.

The man pushed himself off the entryway he had been leaning against and crossed over to where Ryou sat. "Eat," he commanded, kicking the pizza box closer to Ryou and dropping onto one of the sofas.

Ryou scrunched up his nose almost involuntarily, and the man sneered. "What, are you too good for pizza? Eat it. It's only from this morning." As if to demonstrate this, the man picked up a slice and wolfed it down.

Ryou was somewhat horrified. Pizza for breakfast? No matter how he looked at it, that couldn't be healthy. Nevertheless, not wanting to offend his host, he carefully picked up a cold slice and took a bite.

The man watched Ryou chew slowly and scoffed. He leaned back, lounging comfortably on the sofa as Ryou finished off the slice.

"So your name's Ryou Bakura, huh?" the man questioned, crossing his arms. Ryou looked startled, then realized he probably got the name from his wallet.

"Yes," he replied softly, wondering where he could wipe the grease from the pizza off his hands. Seeing no form of napkin anywhere, he settled for folding his hands demurely in his lap and ignoring it.

The man smirked. "Funny," he said lightly. "My name's Bakura too."

"Oh. How… how strange," Ryou replied, unsure of what to say. He tilted his head slightly and hesitantly asked, "Um… I don't mean to be rude, but who exactly are you? How did I get here?"

Bakura grinned, and Ryou gasped at how similar it was to the one the Thief King had worn in his dream. "Why, I brought you here, obviously. And as for who I am?" His grin widened, and Ryou shivered.

"I am the King of Thieves."

* * *

Ryou sat in shock, staring wide-eyed at the man who called himself the Thief King.

"But you can't be him!" he blurted out without thinking. _No no no no can't be just a dream only a dream not real not real not real_

Bakura leaned forward. "Oh? And why can't I be him?" He sounded amused, but there was an underlying current of danger in his words.

Ryou, in his shock, didn't notice. "You… you don't look like him! You're all pale and you don't have that scar and –" He stopped as something on Bakura's chest began glowing. He looked down, noticing for the first time a large gold pendant on top of Bakura's black tank top. _How did I not notice that before…?_

"Look at me," Bakura commanded, and Ryou's eyes shot back up to his face. He watched, horrified, as Bakura began transforming. Like a computer animation, his hair shrank, spiking out in strange directions as his skin steadily darkened and his eyes changed from a dark red to a pale shade of lavender. One patch of skin under his right eye remained curiously pale until it sharpened into three distinct lines, raising itself into scar tissue until Ryou was looking at the clearly recognizable face of the Thief King.

'Oh,' he thought dumbly, 'so that's how he gets around without being recognized.'

Bakura's grin widened even further as the boy went into some form of shock after seeing his full transformation. He began laughing hysterically, only to be sent into more peals of maniacal laughter when he saw Ryou had completely frozen up. After a few minutes, his laughter died down, and he frowned at Ryou's unresponsiveness. It had been amusing at first, but now it was just getting old. He snapped his fingers, yelled, even shook the boy, but Ryou would not respond. He rolled his eyes and slapped him hard across the face.

That got Ryou moving. He let out a pained yelp and immediately placed a hand over his cheek, looking at Bakura with confused eyes. Bakura stood, features melting back into the paler, scar-less countenance.

"Now that you know who I am, I can't let you leave this house. Don't bother trying to escape; there's a barrier around the fence. I'll pay for your food and whatever you need and give you your own room, but you're expected to cook and clean this place up. Got it?"

Ryou nodded dumbly, hand still holding his cheek. Bakura smirked and strode out of the room. Once he was out of sight, Ryou listened for his footsteps but heard nothing.

He let his hand fall, still icky with pizza grease, and slumped into his seat. 'What in the world have I gotten myself into?' he thought miserably.

Bakura walked up the main staircase, not even noticing the instinctive way he walked in order to be completely silent. The second floor consisted of his master bedroom and various smaller bedrooms and a library he used to store his stolen artwork. He frowned as he began going through the smaller bedrooms to find one suitable for Ryou.

'What the fuck am I doing,' he thought, 'I should just erase his memory with shadow magic and be done with it.' Though, it would be nice to have someone around to clean the house.

But Bakura knew it wasn't because he needed a housekeeper. Maybe it was because they had the same name, or because they looked so similar, but something about Ryou made Bakura not want to let him go. He scowled and ran a hand through his hair, his hair spiking in an even more extreme manner.

Bakura decided on one of the three smaller bedrooms. It had its own attached bathroom, and it had the smallest number of pieces to move. He began carrying the various works of art out to the library. Once the room was empty, Bakura crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the empty space. He'd need to get a bed.

Or not. Thinking back, Bakura remembered he had slept on a mattress when he first moved in until the point when he bought a king-size bed on a whim. If he remembered correctly, the mattress should be… in the hallway closet. With little difficulty, he pulled it out along with some sheets and a pillow, and then dumped everything in a messy pile in the center of the room.

Bakura then silently made his way back down the stairs and into the living room, where Ryou sat with his knees drawn to his chest, staring blankly at nothing. He showed no sign of noticing Bakura's presence.

"Hey," he called out, scowling.

Ryou jumped, eyes snapping up to meet Bakura's. "Y-yes?"

Bakura pointed up the stairs. "There's a room for you. Second door on the right. Set up your own shit."

Ryou stood hurriedly, gathering up his backpack and wallet. "Um… thank you," he murmured, not really sure on whether he should thank his kidnapper for giving him a room. But Ryou always tried to be polite, and it'd probably be better to stay on Bakura's good side. He fled up the stairs and into the bare room, closing the door behind him.

The first thing he did after dropping his bag in a corner was open the blinds to let in some natural light. Once that was done, he dusted off his mattress and shook out his sheets, trying not to sneeze from the dust particles in the air. He wondered vaguely if he was supposed to wash them first, but decided not to bother. He could live with a little dust.

The teen set up the mattress in a corner and curled up on top of it. How did he get himself into this situation? And how in the world was he going to get out? Bakura said there was some kind of barrier… Ryou wondered if that was true. He got up to peek out the window. The fence looked intimidating, but otherwise completely normal. No barbed wire or electric sparking in sight.

Ryou grabbed his backpack and dropped back onto the mattress. All he had with him were his sketchbook and a pencil case, along with his wallet and motel key. Motel key…!

Ryou jumped up, mind racing. When Bakura had gone upstairs to get him a room, Ryou had gone to the bathroom and simultaneously discovered there was no phone in the house. Ryou didn't have any of his clothes here, but surely Bakura would not let him out to get them. Unless Bakura planned to have him wear the same set of clothes for however long he planned to keep him here, Bakura would have to go out to collect his things. While he was gone, Ryou could try to find a way over the fence then contact the police. If that didn't work out, well, Bakura was a national art thief. Surely he'd have to leave the house at some point.

With a little more resolve and motel key in hand, Ryou headed back downstairs where Bakura was lounging on the sofa watching TV. The Thief King laughed as screams and splattering sounds filled the air, and Ryou flinched.

"Um… Ba-Bakura… san?" Ryou tried, his earlier resolve rapidly slipping away.

Bakura looked up at him, raising his eyebrow at the honorific. "What?"

Ryou clasped his hands together, desperately willing them to stop sweating. "Um… I – I don't have any of my clothes or anything. All my stuff is in my – my motel room." _Please please please let him go get my stuff please –_

Unbeknownst to Ryou, Bakura immediately saw through his plan. 'He wants me to get his shit so he can try to escape,' Bakura thought, then smirked. Ryou would have to see for himself that there was no way off this property unless Bakura willed it. He stood.

"Fine," he said. "I'll go get your shit. Where's your motel?"

Ryou rattled off the address as well as the room number and held out his key. Bakura sneered at it. He didn't need a fucking key. He took it anyways.

Bakura took his car out, choosing the traditional method of travel rather than his favored traveling through the Shadow Realm. It would give Ryou more time to realize there was no escaping.

* * *

As soon as Bakura's car was out of sight Ryou rushed out of the house and towards the fence. He looked at the black metal warily. Maybe it was electric, and Ryou just didn't realize. There were no wires or anything, but Ryou wasn't an expert in electric fences and didn't really know what they were supposed to look like. He cautiously held out his hand.

But before he could reach the fence, Ryou's hand came into contact with a smooth, invisible wall. Ryou frowned. It felt a little like glass or plastic, but there was no sound when he knocked on it. He pressed his hands flat against it, feeling a little like a mime.

Looking down, Ryou saw no indication in the ground of a wall about three feet away from the fence. The grass grew fine, as if there was nothing there.

Ryou frowned and leaned down, picking up a small pebble. He threw it experimentally at the wall, only to have it sail past the wall and through the fence to clatter on the street on the other side. Ryou gasped and felt for the wall again. Still there.

'This must be the barrier Bakura was talking about,' he thought.

Ryou tried every method he could think of to get past the barrier, but his efforts proved fruitless. The wall was impossible to break, impossible to climb on, impossible to dig under, impossible to get over. By the time he ran out of ideas, he was out of breath and sweating.

Ryou made his way back into the house, heart sinking. He had planned on going back to his room, but in his tiredness, he ended up opening the wrong door and found himself in a different bedroom.

This one had paintings in it. Ryou gasped as he looked around, eyes taking in the various paintings stacked against the wall. He felt faint.

'That's a Rembrandt,' he thought. 'That… I think is a Toulouse-Lautrec. And the one next to it is either a Picasso or a Braque.'

A vibrant strip of color caught his eye. It was the top of a large panting, with colors that seemed to swirl dangerously, and a dark feeling emanated from it despite the bright tint of the paint. The rest was hidden behind another work of art.

Ryou's eyes widened. He hurried towards it and pushed the painting covering it to the side with some difficulty. Once the painting was fully uncovered, Ryou stepped back and gasped.

'Turner's _Slave Ship_,' he thought faintly. His trembling hand ghosted over the deep, dramatic washes of paint, never actually touching the oil paint. He took in Turner's trademark stormy atmosphere and let the violent turmoil wash over him, paradoxically allowing him to forget, even for just a moment, his own plight.

Ryou carefully sat down in front of the painting, never once taking his eyes off it. He let his eyes be drawn down to the bottom of the canvas, where he saw the hands of slaves desperately reaching out before they were swallowed in the depths of the sea.

'_Slavers Throwing Overboard the Dead and Dying_,' Ryou recalled part of the second, longer title. With a painful jolt, Ryou realized that he was in a very similar situation. Though he was thankfully not on a cramped, disease-ridden ship or dying (or dead), his situation was just as hopeless. There was a magical barrier keeping him locked in, and the Thief King seemed to have no intention of letting him go. Nobody knew he was missing and probably would not realize for another two months, when he would fail to show up back in school. By then… anything could happen to him.

'_Typhoon Coming On_,' Ryou remembered the last part of the title.

His vision blurred as hot tears welled up in his eyes. Slumping over onto the floor, Ryou gave up and cried.

* * *

Author's notes

I feel like I'm moving too fast. Am I moving too fast? It feels like everything is just going going going without any transitions.

All reviews, constructive criticisms, and suggestions are highly appreciated.


	3. Settling In

**Chiaroscuro**

Chapter 3: Settling In  
Summary: After falling asleep in a museum, Ryou finds himself mistaken for and subsequently kidnapped by the infamous art thief, Thief King Bakura. AU.  
Pairing: Tendershipping (Yami Bakura x Bakura Ryou)  
Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh!, any works of art mentioned, and anything you recognize do not belong to me.  
Chapter Recap: Ryou wakes up in Thief King Bakura's house, and after seeing his full transformation, he is ordered to stay to cook and clean. When Bakura leaves to get Ryou's things, Ryou tries to escape but fails, and he ends up crying in a bedroom full of paintings.

* * *

Ryou was rudely shoved awake when a foot found its way into his side.

"Get up," he heard a voice call, and Ryou sat up, rubbing his eyes. _I fell asleep…?_ He felt the crusty remnants of tears around his eyes and carefully brushed them away. He looked up at the owner of the foot.

The Thief King stared down at him, arms crossed. "I gave you a fucking room for a reason. Get up and get your shit. It's downstairs." With that, he turned and stalked out of the room.

Ryou stood slowly, fighting the urge to simply close his eyes and go back to sleep. He looked at _The Slave Ship_ for a few moments, mesmerized, but when his eyes threatened to close he turned and stepped out into the hallway.

Walking downstairs, Ryou saw Bakura back on the couch, this time with a beer in hand. As quietly as possible, he picked up his bags from the front entrance and heaved them back upstairs. Once he reached his own room, he opened the suitcase and noticed with some dismay that Bakura had simply grabbed his clothes from the drawers and thrown them in the case without bothering to fold them. He sighed.

Having nothing else in the room other than a small, empty closet, Ryou set about refolding his clothes and placing them back in the suitcase. Once that was done, he shoved the suitcase into the closet and turned to his smaller bag.

This contained his toiletries, books, and art supplies. Ryou bit his lip at the haphazard way everything was heaped, and he hoped that none of his delicate supplies had broken. He stacked his books neatly against a wall and pulled out his toiletries.

Ryou walked into the bathroom and gasped. Setting his things on the counter, he winced at the tangled mess that was his hair and the red puffiness around his eyes.

He ran his hand roughly through his hair and began gathering the things he needed to shower. He turned the water on as hot as it would go, stripped, then stepped in, wincing at the scalding temperature.

After thoroughly shampooing his hair and vigorously cleansing his body, Ryou stood under the somewhat cooler spray of water, his mind blissfully blank. Only when he began to feel himself pruning did he finally step out and towel himself off.

Looking back into the mirror, Ryou frowned at the puffiness of his eyes. While it had somewhat diminished, it still looked incredibly obvious that he had been crying. After dressing himself, he soaked a corner of his towel in cold water and held it on his eyes.

He headed back out to his room and sat on his mattress, pulling his art supplies towards him. Thankfully, most of the delicate things were in their own cases, which had more or less saved them. Ryou's soft pastels had taken a hit though, and the box holding his paints had opened, scattering the tubes throughout the bag.

Ryou gathered up the tubes and place them back neatly in order. He spent an inordinate amount of time straightening them out just to give himself something to do, but even for Ryou, there was a limit to how perfectly he could line up the white plastic caps. He closed the box and drew his knees up to his chest again.

He sat silently, listening to the distant strains of sound from the television downstairs. A part of him wanted to look around the house and see the various art pieces Bakura had stolen, but he didn't know what Bakura's reaction would be and thus remained in his small haven of a room.

After some time, Ryou's stomach decided it had had enough and voiced a loud protest. Ryou curled in tighter on himself and thought back to his last meals. He had eaten that single slice of cold pizza that morning, and some fruits the day before, right before he had gone to LACMA. And now that he had somewhat calmed down from his panic, he discovered that he was really, _really_ hungry.

Apparently Bakura had been thinking something along the same lines, for Ryou's door suddenly slammed open, startling Ryou nearly to death.

"Oi," he called out, "Make some food. I'm hungry."

Ryou held his hand over his hammering chest, trying to get his breathing under control. "Am I… supposed to cook for you?" he asked Bakura, who stood in the doorway looking amused.

"What, you think the food's gonna pop out of nowhere? Start moving," Bakura commanded. He turned and stepped out of sight.

Ryou stood hurriedly, running his fingers through his damp hair. He headed downstairs, where Bakura stood waiting for him. The Thief King looked rather irritated as he led Ryou into the kitchen and pointed out the various appliances.

"If you need anything from the store, write it down, but don't expect me to eat any fucking plants," he growled. "And if you cook steak, I like mine raw. Got it?"

Ryou nodded timidly, and Bakura, satisfied, left the kitchen. Ryou poked around in the fridge for a little while, wondering what he could make for dinner. There were no fruits or vegetables, of course, but there was a lot of meat. He pulled out a package of pork slices and set to work.

"At least I'm used to cooking," he thought, trying to stay positive.

* * *

Bakura sat on the couch as the horror movie marathon returned from its commercial break. 'How incredibly unrealistic,' he thought as the girl on the screen was caught and ripped to pieces.

He put his feet up on the coffee table, knocking a few things off and onto the floor. He didn't bother checking what had fallen, instead focusing on the faint sizzling he heard coming from the kitchen. He was satisfied for now; the boy seemed to know what he was doing, and hopefully, his food would be edible.

As Ryou set about looking for the salt, he vaguely considered if he could poison the Thief King. He entertained the notion in his head for a minute, but then realized he had no idea how to go about doing it. There were no bottles marked with a skull and crossbones as far as he knew, and Ryou didn't know how much he would need to poison him but not have his body throw it back up. If that happened… Ryou didn't want to think about how Bakura would punish him.

Ryou eyed Bakura's impressive set of kitchen knives. He carefully pulled the largest one out, running his finger over the clean blade and sharp edge. Maybe he could stab the thief… it wouldn't be very difficult to do. But the thought of the blood and the mess that would probably ensue made him feel faint and he gently place the black back in its place.

For the moment, he concentrated on simply finishing the meal. When the pork slices were ready, Ryou set out plates and utensils and called Bakura in.

The two white-haired teens ate in silence. Ryou didn't dare look up at Bakura, while the thief stared stonily at the top of Ryou's head as he tore into the meat.

Finally, Ryou decided to risk a peek at his captor, then hurriedly looked away when he met Bakura's cold gaze. "Ano," he started, "Is the food to your liking?"

Bakura's lip curled into a sneer and he grunted, "It's edible," before standing abruptly and leaving the kitchen.

Ryou felt a little hurt at that, but he supposed it was the best answer he was going to get. He gathered up the dishes and washed them in the sink, wondering what else he was expected to do. 'Probably clean the house,' he thought.

When the dishes were dry and placed back in their proper shelves, Ryou padded out into the living room, where Bakura had finished his horror movie marathon and had begun playing some gory shooting game. Ryou stood by the couch and tried to get Bakura's attention.

"Ano," he said. No response. "Bakura-san?" he tried. Bakura continued shooting holes into his long-dead opponent. Ryou shuffled his feet awkwardly, playing with his sleeves.

"Bakura-san?" he tried again. Finally, after about a minute, Bakura paused the game and turned to glare at Ryou.

"What?" he growled.

Ryou cringed at the look and completely forgot what he was going to say. "Er…"

Bakura's glare deepened. 'Spit it out."

Ryou floundered, "Er… Am I… am I allowed to go into the other rooms? O-Or should I just… stay in my own room?"

Bakura bared his teeth, and Ryou bit his lip. "You're supposed to clean those rooms, moron," he turned back to his video game. "Do whatever the fuck you want, but don't you fucking dare take one step into my room or I'll rip you to pieces and feed you to Ammit one by one. Got it?"

Ryou nodded fearfully, wondering in the back of his head who – or what – Ammit was. "W-which room is yours?"

Bakura pounded the controller and replied, "Last door on the left. And don't think about sneaking in while I'm out. I'll know, just like I know you tried to escape today."

Ryou's breath caught in his throat. Bakura knew? Why did he sound so casual about it? He watched Bakura shoot his opponents as he began internally panicking. Not knowing what to do, Ryou turned and ran.

Behind him, Bakura smirked.

* * *

Ryou stumbled into his room, closing the door as quickly as possible without slamming it. He took a few steps and collapsed onto his mattress face-down, mind racing. How had Bakura known he had tried to escape? Maybe he had cameras around the house?

Paranoid, Ryou sat up and frantically looked around his room. There were no cameras as far as he could see, but he supposed they could be hidden within the walls or ceiling. After all, Bakura was an art thief; he probably realized the importance of a good security system.

Or did he not need a security system because they couldn't keep people like the Thief King himself out?

How utterly confusing.

Ryou flumped back onto his mattress on his stomach, white hair spread out and hands curled into fists by his head. He turned his head to the side in order to breathe and contemplated.

Bakura certainly didn't seem angry at his escape attempt… was it because he didn't care? Or because he was certain Ryou wouldn't be able to do it? Ryou prayed it was the former.

Ryou let his mind wander, thinking of ways he could possibly get out. For the first time in his life, he wished he had a cell phone. While he had no close friends to converse with, at least he would be able to get out of situations like these.

He sighed. 'Once I get out of here – no, _if _I get out of here,' the teen thought miserably, 'the first thing I'll do is buy a phone.'

He curled up tightly and burrowed himself into his pillow. Closing his eyes, Ryou wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, wake up in his motel or at home, and continue living his blissfully boring life. No Thief Kings, no kidnapping, no transformations, no strange, physics-defying barriers…

Speaking of which, how exactly did Bakura transform into the Thief King? If this were a movie, Ryou could easily be sure the change was made by computer graphics. But this was reality, and Ryou had no idea how to explain the spectacle he had seen that morning.

'Maybe it's magic,' he thought wryly. Ryou then shook his head furiously and laughed at himself. He wasn't six years old anymore, holding on the hope that magicians and witches existed. There had to be a rational explanation – he just didn't know it.

After tossing a few ideas around, Ryou began feeling the distant strains of an imminent headache and sat up again, rubbing his temples. He pulled his favorite sketchbook towards him and flipped to a blank page. Pulling out his drawing utensils, he twirled his pencil around his fingers before setting it down on the paper.

With thin, light strokes, Ryou began sketching the basic structure of a face with geometric shapes and average proportions for facial features. Then, closing his eyes, he tried to remember the individual details as he sharpened the eyes and elongated the nose. With three simple lines, he laid down a double-crossed scar under the right eye.

As he continued working, the face on the paper gradually resembled the Thief King. It wasn't easy; Ryou had only seen him once, after all. Eventually, the teen settled for filling in the fuzzier details with Bakura's more familiar countenance.

The end result looked fine. Ryou supposed it was because they were really the same person, so things like facial structure wouldn't be too different between them. Holding the sketchbook up, Ryou declared the sketch satisfactory and pulled out one of his beloved Copic Multiliners.

As he inked in the sketch, Ryou vaguely realized that Bakura was pretty good-looking. He wasn't like the Thief King Ryou had imagined when he first picked up the magazine about the criminal. Instead of burly muscles, scars (other than the one on his face), or an unpleasant, grimacing visage, Bakura was more… sharp. Sharp eyes, sharp nose, sharp cheekbones, sharp… teeth. And though he had muscles, he was also pretty thin – a frame built more for agility than strength.

'Well, duh,' Ryou thought as he began cross-hatching the shadows. 'He is a thief, after all.'

And Bakura exuded a more subtle aura of danger – the kind of hair-raising feeling one got when light glinted off a sharp knife. At first glance, Bakura was just that – a kitchen knife, shiny and impressive, but otherwise a common household item, but upon closer consideration one that was highly capable of ending a life with a single blow.

Ryou laughed a little at his analogy. With his pencil, he drew Bakura a disproportional little cartoon body, complete with shining kitchen knife in hand. Then, thinking a little more, the teen realized the analogy was a little incorrect. Bakura was – different. He wasn't just any other kitchen knife; there was something special, something atypical about him. A kitchen knife did him no justice.

No, Bakura was a… dagger. One of those deadly ones truly meant for killing people, hidden among a stash of kitchen knives. Still a blade, but very, very different.

Ryou erased the kitchen knife in his drawing and replaced it with a wicked-looking dagger. 'There,' he thought, 'Not as funny, but definitely more appropriate.'

After making a few more adjustments, the teen put down his pen and held up his finished sketch at arm's length. He giggled a little at the dichotomy of the serious face and the ridiculous body, then neatly printed "Thief King Bakura" in a blank area and dated the bottom right corner.

Despite the seriousness of his plight, Ryou felt a little giddy. 'I am one of very few people – maybe the only one – who have an actual record of the Thief King's appearance,' he mused. 'I even know his name. Hell, I _have_ his name. That's a little crazy.'

He closed his sketchbook and laid down comfortably on his mattress. 'I wonder if Bakura-san knows a lot about art?' he thought. 'He's an infamous art thief; surely he must know _something_.'

Ryou turned over to face the wall and raised the covers up over him. Even with the nap he had taken, the day's mental and emotional rollercoaster had left him completely exhausted.

'I'll just rest for a moment before turning off the light,' he thought.

As soon as his eyes shut, the teen fell deep into the comfort of much-needed sleep.

* * *

When Bakura's eyes and head began protesting from staring at the television screen for so long, he turned the game off and tossed the controller onto the coffee table. He leaned back and stared up at the ceiling as his ears adjusted to the silence.

A smirk ghosted over his face as he thought back to the last time he had seen the white-haired boy… what was his name? Ryou. No doubt he had no idea Bakura had known exactly what he had been plotting, and now he was probably freaking out in paranoia in his room.

'People in this time period are so predictable,' he mused.

The thief heaved a sigh and stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. He slunk his way out of the living room and up the stairs, feet silent against the hardwood floor. He noticed the light spilling out from underneath Ryou's door and considered slamming the door open just to give the boy a good scare, but decided against it. Ryou needed to fear Bakura, and that fear needed time to fester.

He continued on to his own room, pausing to make sure every barrier was still in place. Satisfied, he stepped in and dropped himself onto his bed, only to hear something crinkle.

Frowning, Bakura sat up and pulled his red robe from underneath him. He shook the garment until something fell out and splattered onto the floor. Tossing the robe to the side, he picked the thing up and realized it was the magazine about him that he had taken from Ryou's apartment.

Grinning, he flipped through the pages and skimmed what the "experts" had to say about him. They had his age range correct, as well as the origin of his robe. He nearly laughed at their attempts to analyze his choices in artwork and museums. Those "experts" were looking too much into it; his stealing pattern seemed random because it really _was_ random. He didn't give a shit about the things he stole – the only reason he stole artwork was because it gave him a good amount of challenge and a great deal of money and reputation underground.

Bakura flipped through the rest of the magazine and fed his ego. He was the King of Thieves, damn it. While stealing art wasn't nearly as fun as robbing tombs, at least his reign had remained absolute and unchallenged during the past three thousand years.

Dropping the magazine, he held the Millennium Ring up against the light and smirked.

Life was good.

* * *

Author's notes

Okay, this chapter took foreveerrr. I have now settled into my summer schedule, which means my writing time is limited to when I'm on the bus or before I go to sleep. Also, after a long, frustrating deliberation, I have decided to abandon the idea of putting artwork in each chapter. It kills my plot, and it kills my brain cells, especially since I so severely limited myself to pieces in American museums.

But I will be needing to put some artwork in, so if anyone has a favorite painting or sculpture that's _in an American museum_, I'd LOVE to take any suggestions!

My plot is now completely hashed out, so writing should (hopefully) go a little faster now.

Feedback feeds me :D


	4. Cracktastic Interlude

**Chiaroscuro**

Chapter 4: Request - Cracktastic Interlude  
Summary: After falling asleep in a museum, Ryou finds himself mistaken for and subsequently kidnapped by the infamous art thief, Thief King Bakura. AU.  
Pairing: Tendershipping (Yami Bakura x Bakura Ryou)  
Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh!, any works of art mentioned, and anything you recognize do not belong to me.

_**IMPORTANT**__**: THIS CHAPTER IS NOT PART OF THE CHIAROSCURO PLOT.**_This is a crack interlude for Epouvantable, who requested a maid! Ryou, and it's kind of an **alternate version of Ch. 3**. You **do not **need to read this to continue on. In fact, your brain cells might be safer if you don't.

Ryou is wildly OOC. As is Bakura. There is much paraphrasing of Ch. 3, and tendershipping makes an early appearance.  
HIGHLY CRAPPY WRITING UP AHEAD.

* * *

Ryou was rudely shoved awake when a foot found its way into his side.

"Get up," Bakura stared down at Ryou, "I gave you a fucking room for a reason. Your shit's downstairs. Go get it," he ordered, then stalked out of the room.

Ryou stood and shakily made his way downstairs, where Bakura had re-situated himself on the couch, this time with a beer in hand. Quietly, he grabbed his luggage and hauled it back upstairs to his own room.

He set about refolding his messily thrown clothing neatly back into the suitcase, and then turned to his smaller bag with his toiletries, books, and art supplies. Hoping none of his delicate supplies had broken, he stacked his books against the wall and reached for his toiletries.

Instead of his toiletries, however, Ryou grabbed an unfamiliar paper bag. He pulled it out and frowned at it. The bag itself was white and unmarked, offering no clue as to where it was from. He peeked inside and saw… frills?

He pulled the fabric out and his jaw dropped. With a short black skirt with frilly white lace, puffy sleeves, and a small white apron, no doubt – this was a… maid outfit.

He stared at it, too shocked to move. How had this gotten in his luggage? Slowly, he leaned over to look into the bag again. Among a few frilly… accessories, Ryou pulled out a slip of paper and opened it, looking for an explanation.

"This is your new uniform," the paper cheerfully declared in messy handwriting, "You are expected to wear it whenever you are working."

Ryou gaped. No way. This was ridiculous. He quickly shoved the outfit back into the bag and kicked it away. Grabbing his toiletries, he ran into the bathroom to take a shower.

Once he was all nice and squeaky clean, the teen straightened up the mess that was his art supplies, determinedly looking anywhere except where the bag was innocently sitting. He sat on his bed, trying not to think of the burning humiliation he would feel if he wore that ridiculous… thing.

The door abruptly slammed open, startling Ryou to near death. Bakura smirked from the doorway. "I'm hungry," he announced, "Make some food."

Numbly, Ryou stood, trying to calm himself down. When he started walking towards Bakura, the thief frowned and shifted to block the door. "Wear your uniform," he commanded, gesturing crudely to the corner of the room. Instinctively, Ryou turned to look at what Bakura was pointing at.

The bag lay on its side, guiltily spilling a bit of its frilly contents. Ryou whipped back around and shook his head violently. "No way," he declared.

Bakura smirked, a strange look glinting in his eye. "I'm not giving you a choice. Wear it."

Ryou took a cautious step back. He wasn't going to back down. There was no way in hell he was wearing that thing. "No."

In a flash, Bakura slammed the teen against the wall. Ryou gasped and instinctively lurched forward, only to be stopped by a sharp pressure at his throat. He looked down, then paled and felt his breath hitch when he realized Bakura was holding a _knife against his neck_.

Bakura grinned maniacally at the fear in Ryou's eyes, then slowly ran the edge of the knife against the pale throat, never once breaking the skin. Ryou took shallow, panicked breaths, not daring to move.

Bakura leaned in closer until his mouth was directly by Ryou's ear. Smirking at the way Ryou trembled, he whispered, "Wear it."

Then, just as quickly as he had pinned Ryou, he let him go and whirled around to leave the room.

Ryou clutched his neck and gasped, gulping in large mouthfuls of air as his eyes darted to the corner.

* * *

Bakura leaned casually against the kitchen countertop, lazily fingering the knife in his pocket. His eyes flickered expectantly towards the door when he (finally!) heard steps making their way down the stairs.

His grin widened as Ryou timidly stepped into the kitchen, clearly trying to cover himself to no avail and refusing to meet Bakura's eyes. As he pointed out the various parts of the kitchen and general food rules, Bakura let his eyes rake over Ryou's slender form, tastefully accentuated by the frills and laces. He snickered at the way Ryou kept trying to pull the skirt down to cover more of his legs.

When he ran out of things to say, he gave Ryou a final smirk and headed back into the living room. As his prisoner began cooking, Bakura stared at the television and felt ridiculously pleased at the result of his idea. The maid outfit looked like it was made for Ryou.

After a good amount of time, Ryou called Bakura to dinner, still blushing furiously and squirming uncomfortably. He tried to not shudder when Bakura leered at him but failed miserably.

The teens ate in silence, Ryou not daring to speak up. Bakura simply stuffed his face. When they were done, Bakura leaned back in his seat and watched Ryou gather up the dishes. As he washed them in the sink, Bakura stared at his backside, grinning to himself.

Ryou finished drying the last plate and set it carefully in its correct place, only to be rather abruptly whirled around and pushed against the cabinet, hands pinned above his head.

'Déjà vu,' he thought weakly as he squirmed, trying to get away from the handles digging into his back.

Bakura grinned and slipped his free hand under the frilly skirt. Ryou froze in shock, legs trembling as a hand slid up and between his thighs. The Thief King lazily savored the trepidation in the younger teen's eyes, not moving his hand.

After what seemed like an eternity to Ryou, Bakura let go of Ryou's wrists and removed his hand from between his legs. Smirking, he watched Ryou collapse shakily onto the floor in front of him and strode out of the kitchen as if nothing had happened.

Life was good.

* * *

Author's notes

Short, and nowhere _near_ my usual writing standards. If I wrote anymore, my brain would have died.

My mother and the SAT are collaborating to kill me with vocab, and I still have my internship to go to and my scientific paper to write, so Ch. 5 (which is really Ch. 4, but I don't want to screw up my chapter numbering) will take… a while. Please forget that you ever read this. Anything that happened in this interlude will have NO EFFECT on the next chapter.

Suggestions are still and always welcome! I still need art pieces. My plot is pretty much set in stone at this point, so I can't guarantee I will follow your suggestions, but most will be used to carve my lovely plot stone to make a lovely beautiful statue… (what in the world am I talking about.) Or I'll make an interlude with it. Like this one.

Wow. This interlude is… really bad D:


	5. Peter Paul Rubens: David Slaying Goliath

**Chiaroscuro**

Chapter 5: Peter Paul Rubens – _David Slaying Goliath  
_Summary: After falling asleep in a museum, Ryou finds himself mistaken for and subsequently kidnapped by the infamous art thief, Thief King Bakura. AU.  
Pairing: Tendershipping (Yami Bakura x Bakura Ryou)  
Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh!, any works of art mentioned, and anything you recognize do not belong to me.  
Chapter Recap: While Ryou begins settling into his new life, he briefly contemplates killing Bakura, but an after-dinner comment about Ryou's escape attempt has him fleeing to his room. He comes to some conclusions about his kidnapper, and Bakura, alone in his room, reveals some secrets of his own.

* * *

Bakura was not a fan of mornings.

As a thief, he was much more accustomed to the natural cover of darkness, and thus made it a point to stay conscious during the night and sleep in the day. Granted, given the sun's position in the sky, it was probably about midday by now, but it was still too bright for any respectable thief to be up and running.

Ra, but he was _hungry_, dammit.

Bakura tried to go back to sleep and ignore the hunger, but eventually his bladder decided to ally itself with his stomach in its effort to get him out of bed. The Thief King fought a valiant battle but ended up losing the fight.

Groaning, he ungracefully rolled himself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom to relieve himself and take a quick shower. While he wouldn't have bothered with such a thing three thousand years ago, apparently modern hygiene was no small trifle, and he had gotten used to this unnecessary waste of precious water.

Back in his room, Bakura picked up a random pair of pants and a shirt off the floor and pulled them on along with his Millennium Ring. He violently shook his head, sending water droplets everywhere, then used a dash of Shadow Magic to conceal the Ring before stepping out the door.

Walking down the hallway, the Thief King sensed his captive's presence and stopped in front of his door. He lazily used his foot to turn the handle and kick the door open.

He had expected the younger teen to be lazing around or crying his eyes out or staring at the walls (Ryou seemed boring like that), but he instead found him curled up underneath his blankets, apparently fast asleep. Bakura crossed the room to look down at Ryou and shoved his hands in his pockets. This wouldn't do. He was hungry, and there was no way in hell he was going to cook for himself with Ryou in the house. He wormed a foot underneath the mattress and, with a heave, kicked upwards and sent the mattress tumbling, blankets, boy, and all.

Ryou yelped as his dream was suddenly interrupted by the loss of his sense of gravity. The next moment, he landed painfully on the ground, and his mattress fell heavily on top of him. The boy flailed, not really knowing what was going on, until the mattress slid off of him and he was no longer tangled in his blankets. Ryou calmed down slightly and looked up to see Bakura smirking down at him, amusement written all over his face.

Cool as a cucumber, Bakura ordered, "Make food," and then left the room, footsteps silent.

Ryou ran a hand through his hair and stood, tripping slightly over his blankets. He was still wearing his clothes from yesterday, so after a quick trip to the bathroom, he changed and flipped his mattress back over, dumping his blankets on top. Not wanting to keep Bakura waiting any longer, he left his makeshift bed a mess and headed downstairs.

Bakura was back on the couch, this time with a remote in hand and a local news station announcing recent happenings on the television screen. As Ryou headed into the kitchen to cook, the woman with the fake expression on her painted face finally finished up her report (some useless thing about homeless kids and summer programs, Bakura remembered), and the anchorwoman announced the next section.

"The actions of the national art thief, who goes by the name of 'Thief King,' have always been rather baffling to authorities. However, his most recent heist at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art appears to take the cake, as the thief reportedly left the scene of the crime – without taking a single work of art."

The camera switched to pan in on LACMA as the detached narrator continued the story. Bakura rested his head on his fist, uninterested by the background information they were giving on him.

Just as he was about to switch the channel, the image of a guard appeared on screen and began to speak of his encounter with the Thief King. Bakura perked up. The guard told the camera his story about catching a boy that matched the thief's description wandering around after hours, finding the actual Thief King, and, after putting up a valiant fight, being knocked out by the boy, who he suspected was an accomplice.

The security cameras had all been mysteriously disabled, but all of the involved guards gave testimony that the boy they initially caught was a violent, dangerous teen with pale skin and long white hair. "He was probably running interference for the Thief King," one of them said.

Bakura smirked, amused by the lies spouting out of their mouths. The next moment, he frowned, offended. He was the Thief King – he didn't need some wimpy kid to "run interference."

The disembodied female voice continued, "Accomplice or not, there seems to be no explanation as to why the Thief King left the museum without taking any artwork. Curators have inspected the buildings top to bottom but have reported no missing pieces."

The cameras again switched, this time to a man who was apparently some high-up dipshit at LACMA. "Even if we don't know the reason for the break-in," he started, "we are highly appreciative of the fact that nothing seems to have been stolen…"

Bakura lazily tuned the television out as he heard footsteps nearing the kitchen doorway. A moment later, Ryou poked his head out and announced lunch.

The two teens again ate in silence. Bakura mentally laughed at the way Ryou fiddled with his food, eyes always sliding past him to look elsewhere. This boy was just too amusing.

After watching his captive for a good amount of time, the thief finally relinquished his plate and leaned back in his seat. Ryou, head bowed, quickly gathered up the dishes and placed them in the sink. When it was clear Bakura was not going anywhere anytime soon, Ryou turned on the water and began washing, trying his best to ignore the eyes burning holes in his back.

Instead, his mind began wandering in an effort to find a way out of this house. He had heard the news report on the television – with no cameras and no witnesses other than the guards and Bakura, nobody would be able to see who he was and come looking for him. Even worse, the guards said he was an accomplice – no one would suspect that he was actually kidnapped. The only way to get back home at this rate would be to escape from Bakura himself.

But no matter how many crazy schemes his mind cooked up, Ryou couldn't think of a way to get past that invisible wall. If he did kill Bakura like he had first fantasized and the wall was still there, he would end up stuck with his only way out dead by his hands. And of course, even that would mean killing Bakura first… a feat he was sure was no easy task.

When Ryou finished washing the dishes, he turned around to put them back on the shelves, fully expecting to see Bakura still sitting at the kitchen table. Seeing nothing but an empty chair, he gasped and nearly dropped the dishes in shock. He hadn't even noticed Bakura getting up, much less walking away… Thoroughly unnerved, he finished cleaning up and stepped out of the kitchen.

Bakura wasn't on the couch either, and Ryou again made a face at the mess on and around the coffee table. If he was going to be forced to stay here, he might as well clean it up a little.

Surreptitiously looking around to see if Bakura was anywhere nearby, Ryou picked up as many beer bottles as he could and carried them to the trash can. He brought the bin back over to the table and began dumping everything he deemed as garbage, including the remaining bottles and the now empty pizza box. Untangling the mess of video game controllers proved to be a little more difficult, but after some time each controller was neatly placed on top of its respective console in front of the television.

Ryou gave the coffee table a final wipe down and wiped the sweat off his forehead. With a sense of accomplishment, he stepped back to survey his work and declared it good.

Still carefully keeping an eye out for Bakura, Ryou walked back upstairs into his room. After closing the door behind him, he straightened up his mattress and neatly laid out the sheets. With nothing left to do, he sat on the floor and stared blankly at the wall.

He was still in a cleaning mood… Maybe he should get around to cleaning the rest of the house. It was a very nice place – it was just a shame Bakura didn't seem too interested in keeping it orderly. And it wasn't like cleaning was going to hinder his chances of leaving the house…

Ryou was suddenly struck with the image of clean windows and tables chasing after him as he escaped to make him stay and keep them shiny and dust-free. He giggled a little, pulling out his sketchbook to draw the scene before he forgot it.

When he was done, he went right back to staring at the wall, this time tapping his chin with his pencil. He let out a sigh, letting his shoulders fall and his spine slouch. His sketchbook slid off his lap with a thunk.

If he was going to be living with the Thief King, he might as well make the most of it. Ryou thought back to the room of paintings he had found. Bakura had said he was allowed in there. There were some really great, famous paintings…

'I may not be visiting museums,' Ryou thought, 'but I can still study art.'

He pushed himself up and stood, stretching out his arms. For today, he decided, he was going to look through the room (or rooms, he thought) and see what Bakura had. That ought to keep him occupied for quite some time.

Cautiously, Ryou opened the door and poked his head out into the hallway. Still no sign of Bakura. His eyes gravitated towards the last door on the other side. That was Bakura's room, he remembered. The thief was probably in there.

Ryou fully exited the room and looked around. There were doors on either side of his room, as well as one almost directly across the hallway. He didn't remember which room he had accidentally ended up in the day before, so he went ahead and randomly opened the door across the hallway.

It wasn't the same room, Ryou realized, but it was also full of artwork. In fact, there seemed to be more here, with paintings leaning against the wall and stacked up on top of each other in the center of the room, as well as a few statues shoved into corners. The teen carefully walked around the stacks of frames and stood in front of a dusty sculpture. He breathed on it gently, then began coughing as a cloud of dust lifted up and into his nose. He waved his hands in front of his face and stepped back, grimacing.

It looked like he was going to have to clean before going through the artwork. There were similar layers of dust over the paintings, making Ryou wrinkle his nose.

But how was he supposed to clean off the paintings? Surely there was some special way to do it… He absentmindedly began biting his thumbnail, then realized what he was doing and dropped his hand down by his side. He was supposed to be breaking that habit.

Maybe he should brush off the dust with one of his brushes… It would be a painstakingly long process, but he couldn't exactly afford to damage anything.

Or would a vacuum cleaner work? It seemed a little too… rough, but if he held the nozzle just close enough to pick up the dust, it might work. Ryou wondered if Bakura even had a vacuum cleaner.

Speaking of which, did Bakura have any cleaning supplies at all? The thief didn't exactly look like a cleaning type, but surely he had _something_…

'Time to go on a hunt,' Ryou decided. He carefully left the room and headed downstairs, looking for anything he could use. After a bit of searching, he found a laundry room that held, in a dark, hidden corner, an old wooden broom.

Ryou gently pulled it out, making a face at the cobwebs that came with it. The broom looked like it was more likely to get things dirtier than cleaner. Still, it was better than nothing.

Stepping back, Ryou realized the broom had been right next to a door with a missing handle. Dropping the broom on the ground (and sending up a lovely cloud of dust), Ryou hooked his fingers around the hole where the knob should have been and pulled the door open.

There was no room beyond the door – no mysterious passage that would take him to the other side of the house or out to some secret garden. Instead, Ryou was delighted to see rows of shelves filled with dusty cleaning supplies.

The labels on some of the squirt bottles had worn off, but Ryou found ones he could use on glass, hardwood floors, and granite countertops. There were dust-covered dusters and some old rags, and on the very bottom, an old canister vacuum with different nozzles, including one with a brush.

He pulled out the vacuum and cleaned it off. After attaching the brush nozzle, the teen rolled it to the stairway and began lugging it up, wincing at the way it repeatedly thunked against the staircase.

Bakura shot up on his bed and stared at his door, bewildered. What in the name of Ra…? He frowned and stalked over to his door, opening it none too gently. He half-expected to see his captive trying to beat his brains out on the wall or something, but he instead blinked at the white-haired boy lugging a white… thing up the stairs.

He raised an eyebrow.

Ryou meeped and narrowly avoided falling back down the stairs in shock. In answer to Bakura's unasked question, he held up the vacuum for Bakura to see, only to have his arm give out under the weight. The vacuum dropped with a loud thump, and Ryou winced.

Bakura didn't seem to comprehend, so Ryou explained, "Um… I'm going to… er… clean. With the… vacuum." He pointed at the contraption. "Yeah," he ended lamely.

Ah, the thing that made loud noises and sucked things up. Bakura remembered them from the television. He wondered where Ryou had managed to find one, but he supposed the old owners had left it behind or something. Seeing as Ryou looked like he was expecting a reply, the thief rolled his eyes and scoffed before heading back into his room. He had better things to do with his time.

When the door slammed shut, Ryou let out a sigh of relief and relaxed slightly. Shaking his head vigorously, he rolled the vacuum into the room and wondered how he should go about doing this. He definitely didn't want to accidentally damage the paintings…

Making up his mind, Ryou went back to his room and grabbed a spare t-shirt and his biggest brush. He tied the shirt around his nose and mouth before returning to the room of paintings and plugging the vacuum in. With the vacuum set to the lowest power, the teen sat down in front of the nearest pile of paintings to begin cleaning.

Carefully, using the paintbrush, he brushed the dust off the topmost painting and held the vacuum nozzle above it to suck up the particles. It took massive amounts of patience and concentration, and by the end of the first painting, Ryou's arms were ridiculously sore. He dropped his brush and the nozzle with a sigh and rotated his arms.

Thankfully, it looked like the rest of the paintings underneath the first one were still clean. He didn't bother studying any of them yet, instead choosing to move on to the next stack.

Ryou worked for several hours, stopping only to go to the bathroom and make dinner for himself and Bakura. After a rather simple meal of barbecued beef, Bakura disappeared back into his room and Ryou resumed his cleaning. He was extremely tired, but he was determined to finish at least this room before calling it quits for the day.

Finally, well into the night, Ryou finished dusting off the stacked paintings and the few sculptures around the room. The bigger ones leaning against the wall were left alone because they were too big and didn't have much dust on them anyways.

After a quick trip downstairs, Ryou cleaned the actual room with the hardwood cleaner and the little bits of window he could reach with the glass cleaner. Finally satisfied, he dumped all the supplies in an unoccupied corner and pulled his shirt off his face.

Allowing himself to relax, Ryou sat on the ground and looked up at one of the paintings against the wall. He wasn't familiar with it, but it looked like a Rubens. He admired the circular movement, imagining in his mind the moment when David's sword would come swinging down to cut off Goliath's head.

David and Goliath… the typical story of the weak overpowering the strong. David had knocked Goliath down with nothing but a stone and his faith. Could Ryou do the same? Granted, he didn't quite have anything to place such strong faith in, but he did have access to some very large, sharp knives.

The barrier would still prove a challenge. Ryou shook his head, thinking. No matter. If he could get rid of Bakura, he was sure he could find a way out on his own.

Ryou looked up and ingrained the image in his mind. Feeling an alien sense of utmost confidence come over him, he slowly stood and walked back to his room. He took a shower and prepared for bed almost robotically, thinking of nothing but the painting.

As soon as he hit the mattress and shut his eyes, he began planning.

* * *

Author's notes

Laaaate update. School starts next week, so don't be expecting too much of me. I'll try to get at least one chapter out per month, but I've got some pretty difficult classes coming up, along with the deadline for my research paper competition, SATs, ACTs, etc. etc. etc.

Can you believe I wrote over half this chapter in one day? I was on _fire_ today.

But most of it is filler. The entire point of the chapter is pretty much in the last four paragraphs.

Guys, your reviews are amazing. Each one inspires me to write more :D

Also, I really want your feedback on this. Too much Ryou? Too much cleaning? Did I completely just lose all of you somewhere on that dust-covered road?


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